Gummy Bears
by the coffeemaker
Summary: Oneshot. Gen. Seven year old Harry Potter opens a bag of candy and steps into the future.


**Notes:** I wrote this in a flash of inspiration when I was passing around gummy bears in class. Don't you just love the things? However, I'd take reviews over candies any day. –ingratiating smile –

**Disclaimer:** I don't own Harry Potter, but it's fun to dabble. Also, certain phrases are taken straight from the Harry Potter books. Except for the first paragraph, all the italicised paragraphs are J.K.'s.

Gummy Bears 

_Do memories find their way to someone from the future? No one can say for sure, but have you ever found yourself feeling that something is vaguely familiar about a place you have never seen, or getting a glimpse of a memory you have never had? Some call them premonitions. Some call them imagination. And others call them utter nonsense. But while we seldom find such things happening to us, and most of us will forever insist such things cannot be, all these things, all these premonitions, do, indeed, exist…_

Seven-year-old Harry Potter sits on his small mattress and pulls a bag of gummy bears from his pocket. The school celebrated Halloween today, and Miss Whitley, the nice English mistress, gave everyone a bag of sweets on Halloween.

"Green," he mutters under his breath as he sorts them out into their different colours. There are twenty bears altogether, and five colours. "Red, yellow… no, orange. And this one's brown, I think. And a pink one, here…"

He ends up with five neat piles of sugar and chewy goodness. He looks at them with a satisfied smile, and then picks up the empty bag. The label informs him that the red ones are strawberry flavoured, the green ones are apple flavoured, the orange ones are, well, orange flavoured, the brown ones are cinnamon, and the pink ones are, oddly enough, cherry flavoured.

Red. He likes those best. Red apples, red cherries, red hair… red hair?

_"Ginny, will you go out with me?"_

_"Hell, yes!"_

He blinks confusedly. What was that? Shaking it from his mind, he pops one into his mouth and chews, savouring the sweet, yet sour taste.

Green, now. His very first memory is of green light.

_From far away, above his head, he heard a high, cold voice say, "Kill the spare."_

_A swishing noise and a second voice, which screeched the words to the night: "Avada Kedavra!"_

Harry pinches himself, hard. It hurts, and he knows he's not dreaming it. He decides to leave it for now, and puts the blame on his overactive imagination.

Chewing on another miniature candy bear, he contemplates the pile of orange. Orange. It reminds him of sunrise, and fire, and cannons.

_It was like walking into a furnace: nearly everything in Ron's room seemed to be a violent shade or orange: the bedspread, the walls, even the ceiling._

He rubs his forehead, trying to ward off an impending headache. Done with his green gummy, he moves on to an orange one, already forgetting the incident. Odd things seem to happen around him, and he just can't help it.

The brown pile sits next to the orange one. The candies look golden in the dim glow from the bare light bulb in a corner of his cupboard.

_Harry looked up and saw Hermione Granger standing at the top of the white flight of steps to Gringotts. She ran down to meet them, her bushy brown hair flying behind her._

He blinks, shrugs, and pops a cinnamon flavoured sweet into his mouth. The name Hermione sounds familiar, but he can't place it. He turns to the pink bears now.

Pink. An odd colour for a gummy bear. Harry doesn't believe that he's ever seen a pink gummy bear.

'_Ooh, he looks just like I thought he would,' said the witch who was holding her lit wand aloft. She looked the youngest there; she had a pale heart shaped face, dark twinkling eyes, and short spiky hair that was a violent shade of violet. 'Wotcher, Harry!'_

He's pretty certain that he's losing the battle against the headache, now. Witch? Uncle Vernon would lynch him for just thinking about that. The sugar, he decides, is messing with his thought processes, and he would do well to put the sweets away and go to bed.

That same night, he dreams of a flying motorbike.

FIN.

Word Count: 648


End file.
